


the art of imagination

by elevenoclock



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenoclock/pseuds/elevenoclock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reason Arthur is such a competent Point Man is because he’s seen the entire universe, including the beginning and the end; nothing fazes him anymore, and he knows how to look for the unusual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the art of imagination

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hllangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hllangel/gifts).



> Once again, I asked my friend to give me two random fandoms to crossover. This time, she gave me Doctor Who and Inception. Written in under an hour, unbeta'ed.

When Arthur is twenty-three, he gets sent to a warzone that no U.S. media is covering, in a country that many Americans don’t even know exist. It’s not the first time that he’s killed a man.

It is, however, the first time that he’s killed something Not of This Planet.

He was selected for the mission because he’s damn good with a rifle, speaks four languages fluently (and half a dozen more competently), and has mastered every hand-to-hand combat course that his C.O. has thrown him into. He’s the youngest one on the team, but no one dares to say a word to his face about this fact.

The pre-mission briefing only tells them to be on their guard, and that they might see some things that defy logic; just keep firing.

And so Arthur kills his first non-human—non-terrestrial, he corrects. It’s tall, lithe, and has a laser gun that Arthur alternatively hates and covets, because that thing is raining destruction down on their trench line like nothing he’s ever seen before.

Arthur takes it down with one very precise bullet to the right clavicle, immediately below the collarbone.

“Nice shot,” a man says behind Arthur.

Arthur’s shoulders tense up to his ears, and he freezes. He didn’t hear anyone come up behind him, and even with the noise of gunfire and explosions he wouldn’t have missed that.

“Are you here to kill me?” he asks.

The man is British by the accent, but Arthur’s quickly learning not to trust his first instincts.

“Nah,” the man says.

So Arthur turns around. The man standing there (definitely humanoid, although again Arthur won’t trust that his vision means anything… he just killed a _giant ten-foot tall alien with a laser gun_ , after all) is not a soldier. He’s wearing a cheesy suit and cheesier grin.

“How’d you know to shoot it where you did?” the British man asks.

Arthur shrugs. “It had a helmet of some kind on,” he says, “so the heart was the next best target.”

“And you just assumed that the heart would be on its right side?” the man asks.

“The skin was fluttering there, like it was breathing harder. And any time a grenade exploded near it, it immediately protected its right side, not its left.” Arthur says this like it’s obvious.

“Of course, of course,” the man says. He studies Arthur for a long moment. “Do you enjoy being in the military?”

The question comes out of left field. “Who the hell are you?” Arthur asks.

“You can call me the Doctor,” the man responds easily.

“Doctor? You a shrink?” Arthur hates shrinks, hates the thought of someone getting into his head and knowing his deepest secrets. “Is that what this is, some kind of psych test?”

“Oh, not at all,” the Doctor says. “This was a battle against a Logorian of Mull, one of the best assassins in the universe.”

Arthur takes a split second to process this. His rifle is up and aimed at the man a split second after that. “You one of them?” he asks.

“One of whom? The Logorians? No, I’m much to short, unfortunately.”

“An _alien_ ,” Arthur hisses.

“Oh, that!” The man grins, showing his teeth. “Well, yes.”

Arthur’s finger twitches on the trigger, but he doesn’t fire for some reason. Later, he’ll look back at this moment and wonder if it was the smartest decision of his life, or if he should have pulled the trigger and saved himself the impending headache.

The Doctor is still grinning. “So, wanna take a ride in my space ship?”

***

The TARDIS is the most amazing thing that Arthur has ever seen. It defies physics in ways that he can’t even begin to comprehend, and makes his fingers itch for a sketchpad, though he knows that he’ll never be able to capture the beautiful marriage of organic and technology that makes up the ship. 

It also has a clothing room. An entire room where any clothing Arthur can dream of is found in his exact size. 

There are suits like the ones Arthur has always admired and never been able to afford on a military stipend. He runs his fingers over silk and wool and smiles.

***

There’s another alien shooting at him. Arthur doesn’t have a gun; the Doctor disliked them, and so Arthur had left his sitting in that trench in a nameless country. He regrets that decision now.

“Do you have any weapons at all?” Arthur asks, panting as he runs for his life.

The Doctor looks unnaturally cheerful, given the circumstances. “Nope,” he says. “But I have a screwdriver!”

“What on earth is a screwdriver going to do to help us?” Arthur ducks as something whizzes over his head. There’s no cover for miles, and the TARDIS is back behind them.

“Well, it’s sonic!” the Doctor says.

Arthur opens his mouth to respond with something—probably a profanity, followed by “are you actually crazy?”—but the Doctor isn’t next to him anymore.

He turns, and the Doctor is standing, facing their pursuer, and he has something that looks like a penlight in his hand, aimed at the alien’s gun. Arthur opens his mouth to call something, looks around for anything to use as a weapon. He spots a rock the size of his fist and grabs it, throwing it at the alien with all his might.

The gun stops firing with a burst of sparks, and the rock hits the alien in the head a moment later, causing him to crumble to the ground.

“Excellent team work,” the Doctor calls.

Arthur eyes the penlight in his hand. “Where can I get one of those?” he asks.

***

Years later (earlier, at the same time, in another universe; Arthur is never quite sure which it is), Eames will turn to him and say, “Why were the trees in your dream blue with purple leaves?”

Arthur will lie and say, “Maybe I do have an imagination after all.”

***

“They’re smugglers, the Yal are,” the Doctor says. They’re in London, of all places, in the late twentieth century. There are a dozen tiny creatures scurrying through the alley in the middle of the night, barely visible with the dark skin and dark clothing. Each of them carries a silver briefcase, almost as big as they are.

Arthur watches with the Doctor from a window. “What are they smuggling?” he asks.

“It’s a dream-linking system, from Somnacia. They’re smuggling the devices in to you lot, in exchange for raw iron.”

“Iron?” Arthur asks.

“Oh yes, the Yal have a shortage on their planet, and it’s an especially favored food source.” The Doctor stands once the tiny Yal have vanished. “They’re small enough to make excellent thieves and smugglers, so they practically run the black market in this sector of the universe.”

“Are they dangerous?”

The Doctor shrugs. “Might be,” he said. “I’m more worried about what humans will do once they get their hands on a Somnacian Dream Device, though.”

***

The first time Arthur sees a PASIV (later, again, or maybe it really is earlier this time?), he’s back in the military, and dream sharing is a new program that they’re testing out to train soldiers.

Arthur remembers the Doctor’s worry. He watches as command breaks soldier after soldier in the dream world, watches them shiver and cry as they come back to waking. He watches soldiers fall into limbo and never wake at all.

So he steals the PASIV. It’s the least he can do.

Besides, after fighting for so many years, he’s ready for a change.

***

“Is this what you do, then?” Arthur asks.

They’re on a pier, looking out over the side. There are things that could be hot dogs, and something that Arthur thinks is a beverage, although it’s more the consistency of Jello. If it weren’t for the fact that the pier looked out over a black hole, and the hot dogs were made of an alien meat that Arthur’s too afraid to think too hard about, they could be anywhere on Earth.

“What?” the Doctor asks. He’s not eating, just enjoying the view.

“Travel the universe. Get into trouble.”

The Doctor smiles, but it’s missing something. “Oh, that. Yes, pretty much,” he says.

“Isn’t it lonely?”

The Doctor turns to look at him, and Arthur regrets the question. “Always,” the Doctor says. “And never.”

Arthur just nods.

***

“You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling,” Eames says.

What Arthur doesn’t (can’t) say, is that it’s difficult to dream bigger when you’ve already experienced something as vast and utterly _real_ as the universe.


End file.
